Somewhere in Neverland

I’ve spent the good majority of the night in observation at the hospital. When I woke up after passing out, I was in an ambulance throwing up everything I’d managed to keep down earlier. Evidently I went so low Noelle gave me a glucagon shot to bring me back up quickly and called 911 immediately.

Glucagon shots are the worst. They’re given in only the most extreme cases when a diabetic is so low they’re unresponsive and unable to take in glucose orally. They shoot your blood sugar up so high, so quickly that you wake up throwing up. It's just no fun.

“How’re you feeling?” A man in a white jacket asks as he pulls the curtain closed behind him.

I glance at the IV in my left hand and cringe at the sight. “I feel sick.”

It’s a stupid question, really. Anybody who knows anything about hypoglycemia and glucagon can tell you that I feel like complete shit, so it’s annoying having to reiterate it to a man who claims to be an emergency room doctor.

“Are you feeling nauseous, light headed, hungry?” It’s like he thinks I need to hear the symptoms to be able to point them out.

“I feel like I have high blood sugar,” I say bluntly. “I have to pee, I’m hungry as fuck, I’m thirsty, and I feel like I’m going to puke at any given moment.”

He jots some notes down and nods his head like what I’m saying is news to him. After he’s done writing whatever it is he’s writing down, he looks up at me expectantly. “Is that all?”

“I’m also extremely irritable, if that wasn’t obvious,” I point out with a snide attitude.

He writes that down, too and excuses himself from my makeshift room, saying someone will be in in a few minutes to take some blood.

Alex is passed out in the chair next to my bed, proving his loyalty once again. I told him to go to Dallas with the rest of the crew, but he refused, saying he’d leave tomorrow with my band when I was discharged. When I told him that was a stupid idea, he stubbornly set up camp in the chair. I would let him sleep in bed with me, but the doctors seem excessively proper and are pissed I have an overnight visitor of the opposite sex, anyways.

I close my eyes, hoping to get some sleep tonight, but as soon as sleep seems like a possibility, a young guy in maroon scrubs pulls the curtain back and wheels in a cart.

“My name’s Scott and I’ll be your tech for the night shift,” He explains, writing his name on the dry erase board. “I just need to get some blood for some labs.”

Needles are not something I’m good with. I’m notorious for passing out when I even see them, so I shake Alex’s leg lightly and wake him up.

“Hm?” He hums without opening his eyes.

“Hold my hand. They’re taking blood.”

He extends his arm and offers his hand which I squeeze tightly as the tech sanitizes my arm and wraps the tourniquet around it.

“Just breathe,” He laughs lightly as he feels my inner arm with his fingers. “I don’t even have the needle in my hand yet. I’m just looking for a vein.”

I nod and take deep breaths, but look the other way as he comes at me with the needle. Despite being diabetic for 21 years, this isn’t easy for me. I know it hurts more when I tense up, but I can’t help it. I hold my breath as I feel the needle break my skin and squeeze Alex’s hand with all my strength. He grimaces in pain, but doesn’t complain, knowing he’s keeping me calm right now.

“How many tubes are you taking?” I ask, knowing full well if this needle isn’t out of my arm soon, I’m going to pass out.

“I need five,” He answers. “And I’m on number two.”

“Caroline, breathe,” Alex sits up and watches me intently. “Talk to me.”

“About what?” I ask, too worried about what the tech is doing to think clearly.

“About anything,” He says.

“I want food.”

Alex nods his head. “What do you want?”

“I don’t know; I’m just hungry.”

“We can get you food if you want,” Scott says, his voice cool and calming. “And I am just about done.”

I feel instant relief once I know the needle is out of my arm and I unclamp my hand from Alex’s which has lost much of its color. He opens and closes his fist a few times and looks at me in awe of how much pain I inflicted on his hand.

“I will never doubt your strength again,” He laughs, looking between me and his hand which is slowly regaining its complexion. “Ever.”

Before the tech leaves, he makes me check my blood sugar, which is still sky high. He jots down a scribbly 343 on the board along with an equally messy 2:36am before saying a doctor will be back later with the test results and to check again. He flicks the lights off on his way out and I’m thankful to know I have a few hour window that allows for sleep.

--

When I’m woken up this time, the sun is just barely coming up. The clock says it’s 6:30 am and the doctor offers a small smile as he checks my chart.

I groan and roll over, praying they don’t have to take any more blood. In the past four hours, they’ve checked my blood sugar eight times, taken my vitals twice, and changed my IV bag four times. Every time they did any of this, they felt it necessary to wake me up and tell me what they were doing, even though I blatantly told them to do whatever they deemed necessary without waking me up.

The doctor flips my chart closed and walks slowly towards the bed. “Hi Caroline, I’m Dr. Thorne,” He offers his hand and I shake it. “So, we got a few of your test results back and for the most part everything looks good. You’re blood sugar is still a little bit high for comfort, but your platelets look good and nothing seems out of the ordinary.”

“Does that mean I’m getting discharged soon?” I ask, hoping to get out of here relatively soon. I’m antsy to get this IV out of my hand and to get on the road.

He shakes his head slowly and has a weary look on his face. “We actually wanted to admit you today, just to keep an eye on your glucose levels and make sure you’re not dehydrated anymore.”

“Yeah, but I can’t stay,” I feel a lump form in my throat like I’m going to cry. That’s the last thing I wanted to hear. “I have to be in Dallas later today. I can’t be here another day. Alex has a concert that he has to get to.”

“Caroline,” His voice is calm, but his expression tells me he’s not too worried about me getting to Dallas today. “When it comes to your health, you need to put it first.”

I shake my head in disbelief, wishing Alex was awake to hear everything coming out of Dr. Thorne’s mouth. If Alex wasn’t dependent on my band and crew to get him to Dallas – if he had left last night like I told him to – I wouldn’t fight this. Sure, I’d be a little scared to stay overnight in the hospital on my own, but I’d manage. But Alex doesn’t have an option to miss tonight. He doesn’t have the ability to say sorry to the fans and tell them his girlfriend is in the hospital. No, he has to be there. I’m not going to hold him back.

“I can’t,” I say quietly. My eyes plead with him to understand and he wearily shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders.

“We can’t hold you here against your will,” He sighs in defeat. “I’ll get your discharge papers ready.”

--

It’s nearly 8 am the next time Dr. Thorne comes in to talk to me. He holds a clipboard in his hands and he pulls the curtains closed behind him. Despite my hopes he’s here to take my IV out and send me on my way, he stands at the foot of my bed and flips through the stack of papers, slowly nodding his head.

“We got the last of your test results back,” He says in a way that I know I’m not going to like what I hear.

“And?” I ask impatiently, hoping he doesn’t try to convince me to stay.

“Are you aware that you’re pregnant?”